


You're Still a Mystery

by ganvogh



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arc Reactor, Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Made-up villain, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, ambiguous timeline, i wrote this instead of finishing my other story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-18 00:58:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganvogh/pseuds/ganvogh
Summary: It was supposed to be simple.Subdue the threat, seal the sword.But complications arise, and they seem to share a common colour scheme.-A collection of injury fics with a focus on hurt/comfort.





	You're Still a Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> Working non-stop on the same fic is a sure-fire way to kill the quality, so I've taken to writing some shorter snippets before I go on holiday.
> 
> (Title is from You're Still a Mystery by Bleachers, which is a great Ironstrange song from Tony's POV.)

It was supposed to be simple.  
  
Their foe, an older sorceress disillusioned by Stephen’s position as Sorcerer Supreme, had stolen the Dragonfang, a sword forged from the tooth of an ancient inter-dimensional dragon, and was attempting to use its power to break the mystical barriers that protected the sanctuary from harm.  
  
Subdue the threat, seal the sword.  
  
She had formidable power, something that likely made her think she was better qualified for the role, but it was nothing compared to the magic Stephen possessed.   
Magic coursed within his veins, flowing freely and bending to his every whim. The power to move worlds and shake them to their foundations, to tear planets from the heavens and place them in a new sky. He invokes the power of the divine principalities, the Vishanti, the Octessence, feels the essence of the gods themselves flow through him. This woman is nothing to him.  
  
But complications arise, and they seem to share a common colour scheme.  
  
Avoiding what would have been a rather nasty gash to his side, he finds himself pulled out of the way by something strong and tensile on his back.  
  
“Hey Doc!” The source of the rescue sounds bursting with young enthusiasm, and Stephen sighs inwardly.  
  
“Spider-Man.” He greets, albeit with slightly less enthusiasm.   
  
He had been seeing the boy more and more often, entertaining his sporadic impromptu visits to the sanctum, and even allowing his company on the occasional mission Stephen thought he could handle.  
  
“What’s the story here, sir?” he asks, and Stephen does have to admire how respectful he is.  
  
“Well, this is-” he begins, but is cut off from his words by a manic shriek.  
  
“Fool! I, Cedonia Darkmore, do not require your _introduction_!” her magic flared around her, swirling a deep red but dissipating when it met the vibrant orange of Stephen’s own.   
Blood magic user, then.   
  
“Sid-? Ced-” Peter begins, attempting to pronounce the name. “Did you get that from some sort of fantasy name generator? Or are you just like, _really_ into D &D roleplay?”  
Stephen huffs out a laugh, Spider-Man’s trademark battle snark a welcome remedy to the awful day he found himself having.

It’s all they manage to say before the sorceress is leaping for the boy, sword drawn and hoping to catch him by surprise. It barely hits, an impressive feat given his speed, grazing down his arm as he hisses in pain. He flips out of the way, avoiding most all of the damage.  
  
“Alright, _alright_!” he says, his arm already visibly knitting itself together. “So you’re more the World of Warcraft type? That’s cool! I’m a level 93 Draenei Mage.”   
He pauses a second. “What? No, Karen, I _don’t_ want you to start PvP.”   
  
“Be _silent_!” she spat, firing a bolt of red energy at him. He dodges it easily, swinging out of the way as Wong opened a portal behind him, catching the energy. He opens his own portal, hurtling the energy back at her as she howled in anger. She runs the sword along her hand, breaking her skin and smiling manically as a few drops land on the dust of the pavement.   
  
This worries him.   
  
A blood mage uses their own blood to draw forth their magic potential or cast spells, and in the right hands it was an ancient and powerful magic capable of unknown devastation.   
  
As if to answer his fears, energy throws outwards from her body, red-hot and burning to the touch. She throws Wong back into the wall as he attempts to subdue her, turning to grab Spider-Man by the neck as he jumps for her. She knocks him back with a powerful streak of scarlet magic, before turning her attention to Stephen.  
  
“Great Cytorrak, heed my call, and bind my enemy in your bands of crimson!” she shouts.  
The ground rumbled in response, ribbons of inter-dimensional energy constructs shooting upwards and wrapping themselves around his hands and snaking up his arms. They drag him to his knees, the force of their pull difficult to resist, his bound hands limiting his casting abilities.

“I will have your _head_ , Sorcerer Supreme.” She snarles at him, raising the blade once more as she charges towards him.  
  
He braces himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to prepare for the excruciating pain, wondering if he’ll even survive it.  
  
But the hit never comes.   
  
He hears the splitting of metal instead, and the wet noise of blade through skin, an anguished and choked out grunt of pain, and Peter’s screaming “ _No!_ ” from somewhere beside him.  
  
He opens his eyes to see the back of a figure he’s seen in newspapers and magazines and on the TV and just about anywhere one could turn. A glistening red and gold figure, tall and imposing.  
  
And the tip of the sword is protruding out of the armour on his side.   
  
She twists the sword cruelly before pulling it out, a harsh, half-stifled cry of pain as Tony falls to his knees in front of him.   
As she’s distracted enough, Wong is able to cast a Conjurer's Cone to send the sorceress away to another dimension at last, and the sword clatters to the floor, blood dripping from it. The Crimson Bands of Cytorrak dissipate, fading back to the ground and freeing him as he moves to the man’s side.  
  
“Stark!” he barks as he puts an arm out to steady him. “What did you-? _Why_ would you-?”  
  
The faceplate lifts, revealing soft brown eyes rounded in surprise, a drop of blood pooling at the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Oh, I’ve had worse.” The man hisses, but Stephen doesn’t find the thought reassuring in the least. He orders Wong to take the Dragonfang back to the sanctum to be sealed away once again, and works his magic free from shaking fingers.   
Familiar glowing orange dances along the damaged armour of the injured man, easily lifting it free from its joints and floating the pieces up into the air. It’s discarded on the ground around them, and Tony is left in a tight black under-suit, thin blue lines that match the colour of the reactor running across his arms and thighs. The black of the outfit makes it difficult to tell exactly how much, but there’s a large gash in the fabric on his lower abdomen, soaked through with blood. He unfastens one of the belts at his waist, bundling up the sturdy fabric.  
  
“Y’know, if you wanted us to take our clothes off… I can think of much better situations to be doing it in.” He teased, his voice wet, despite collapsing slightly into the other man’s chest, his breathing ragged and shallow. He takes the fabric in his hand and presses it firmly into the wound, hoping the pressure would lessen some of the blood-loss. He hears Tony hiss in pain, gripping onto Stephen’s sleeve and gritting his teeth. The cloak floats of his shoulders to rest beside him, fabric rippling in concern as it presses one of its corners firmly onto the exit wound.   
  
He can practically feel Spider-Man hovering nearby, radiating with worry and anxious energy.

“Peter,” He addresses him, trying to keep his voice calm and soft, but authoritative, “get me Christine Palmer of the New York-Presbyterian Hospital, tell her to prepare for a patient with a deep laceration to the lower-abdomen.”  
  
To his credit, Peter was quick to react, immediately asking the A.I. in his suit, Karen, to follow up on Stephen’s instructions. He trusted Christine above all others, and knew that she was his best shot at getting him through this.   
  
He was breathing in irregular and shallow intervals now, skin pale and lacking its usual soft tan.  
  
“Tony, listen to me, you’re going into shock. I’m going to need you to lie down.”   
  
“I’m fine.” He insists weakly, even as his grip loosens on the sorcerer’s robes and his head sags against Stephen’s chest, eyelids fluttering closed.  
  
“ _No_ , no, stay with me.” he urged, panic creeping into his voice in a way he hadn’t felt since he had his first patient in medical school.  
  
He sets the man down, now unresponsive, his hand gentle at the base of his neck, and reverts into the motions of chest compressions. He places the heel of his hand just below the arc reactor in the centre of his chest, interlocking his fingers with the other hand, and presses down to a steady rhythm.   
He gets to thirty presses, before stopping to tilt the man’s head gently, lifting his chin with two fingers. He takes his fingers and pinches his nose, preventing the air from leaving through it.  
  
“I usually expect dinner first, Stark.” he murmurs quietly, although he knows Tony can’t hear him, before covering his lips with his own. They’re soft and warm, like petals in the evening sun, and he almost, _almost_ finds himself willing to repeat it under different circumstances.  
He blows firmly and steadily, checking to make sure his chest rose with the breath. He repeats it once more, before returning to the compressions.  
  
“Miss Palmer is asking if you need an ambulance? She… also says that Mary is in the mop closet so you can’t go in that way?” Peter’s confusion would have been priceless were it any other situation, Stark was breathing now but the odds were murky.  
  
“Ask her what room she’s prepared.”  
  
A pause.  
  
“She says ward C36 in Accident and Emergency.”  
  
“Thank you, Peter.”  
  
“I’ll wrap things up here with Damage Control. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Peter promises, one last look at Tony’s unconscious form before quickly webbing off.  
He nods and draws a portal to the room, picturing it thanks to his photographic memory, and uses his magic to lift and place the man onto the hospital bed.  
  
Christine is there already, pale blue scrubs at the ready and mask around her neck as they share a look. She and her team get to work immediately, the organised bustle of the job nauseatingly nostalgic.   
If any of the surgeons recognised him, or the man they were treating, they didn’t show it.  
  
Stephen watches on from the corner of the room, hands trembling at his sides, although from worry or old injuries he’s not sure. He pictures Tony’s sacrifice, an act that was pure and selfless, remembers the feel of him leaning on his chest for support, and silently wills whatever callous mystic entities that will listen to get him through this alive.  
  
He doesn’t think he’ll forgive himself otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave me a comment or kudos if you did, they sustain me through the long, harsh winters.♡


End file.
